


Steps

by santana-lopez (nightshifted)



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-21
Updated: 2011-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-24 20:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshifted/pseuds/santana-lopez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New York state passes the Marriage Equality Act.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steps

Brittany shows up at her door at nine-thirty in the evening, and Santana doesn't know whether to be annoyed that everyone just assumes she has no life on a Friday night or happy that through the ups and downs of their junior year – and there were a fuckton of those – her best friend still feels comfortable enough dropping by unannounced.

As soon as she steps inside, without a single word, Brittany grabs Santana's hand and pulls her upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. Barely avoiding tripping and falling flat on her face about ten times, Santana finds herself being dragged into her own room. Brittany releases her hand and drops down onto the bed, camping out in front of Santana's laptop.

"Britt, what are you doing?"

"There's this—" Brittany hits some keys, brows furrowing in concentration. "It's really important."

Hesitantly, Santana approaches and takes a seat next to Brittany, her leg knocking against Brittany's. Brittany scoots closer, letting their hips press together, and she angles the laptop toward Santana as a video buffers on screen.

Santana's eyes flicker to the description in the sidebar. "This is—"

"Yeah," Brittany cuts her off with a soft laugh. "Just watch."

Santana returns her focus to the screen. A man – a senator – is talking about marriage, about family. Santana listens carefully, but the words themselves aren't registering. At the back of her mind, she knows what she's listening to – she'd even planned to watch the end of it later – but she hadn't expected any company. She figured she'd cry a little if it passed, throw some shit if it didn't, and blame her emotional state on PMS.

But Brittany is sitting beside her, holding her hand – when did that even _happen_? – her other hand tangled in Santana's dark hair, gently stroking. Santana bites her lip to stave off her tears, but when the man on the screen, a different one than the first, starts talking about extending to everyone the same rights that he and his wife enjoy every day, Santana starts crying and doesn't know how to stop.

Brittany pulls Santana against her shoulder, silently rubbing her back as she cries.

When the final numbers are announced and it becomes official, it's a surprisingly quiet moment between the two of them. The words _legal legal legal_ play over and over in Santana's mind, followed immediately by feelings she cannot even verbalize. Redemption, in a way. Validation, in another. _About fucking time_ , the angry part of her seethes. She'd blurted out once that she'd be an outsider her whole life, but every little step her country takes, she feels a little less like one.

"It's not Ohio," Santana finally says when she's dabbed at her damp cheeks and rediscovered her voice.

"It's America," Brittany replies with a small smile. "It's one state down."

"And forty-four left to go." Santana shuts her eyes, squeezing out the last few teardrops. "It's just such a long battle, Britt."

Brittany brushes her knuckles tenderly against Santana's cheek. "You're a fighter, Santana."

Santana nods, and after a moment, says, "I like—" _You_ , she wants to say. "—girls."

"I know," Brittany replies gently, eyes piercing like she's caught her meaning.

Santana smiles a little, wiping away the last of her tears. She hiccups. "I can get married in New York."

Brittany beams. "And Massachusetts, Connecticut, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Iowa."

The very fact that Brittany knows the states by heart makes Santana start crying again. Because it's not only about her, Santana realizes. It's Brittany, too. Brittany, who likes boobs and kissing girls. Brittany, who'd danced with another girl at prom. Brittany, with her _'fuck it I will love anyone I want to'_ philosophy. Knowing Brittany means that Santana is never alone.

Because it's Brittany sitting next to her, holding her up in a moment of weakness, reminding her that while the fight is long, each battle is important. Santana doesn't think she's ever loved Brittany as much as she does then.

"And DC," Brittany adds, reaching to brush away Santana's fresh tears, "which I always thought stood for Duck Chicken, but I guess it's actually where Obama lives."

Santana closes her laptop and pushes it away, then turns to Brittany. "Thank you," she whispers, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

"I love you," Brittany says in response. She smiles. "Remember?"

Santana laughs tearfully. "I remember." She squeezes Brittany's hand and, "I love you too."

Brittany smiles at her, leans in and presses a soft kiss against her lips. There's a promise imprinted to her skin, a silent oath. Santana's pinky twitches.

"We're getting there," Brittany says, a hint of melancholy hidden behind her never ending optimism.

Santana closes her eyes and leans against Brittany's shoulder. "Yeah," she echoes, "we're getting there."

_fin_


End file.
